Jean Lorrah - Empress Unborn

By now it was clear to Aradia that Pyrrhus was wounded far more in mind than in body. Such cynicism could only cover deep scars of betrayal. It was not an uncommon symptom among the people their Savage Alliance had conquered, and the only cure was to prove their benevolence over time.

The sole medicine she could offer Pyrrhus at the moment was to continue his healing. “Have you eaten?”

she asked.

He frowned slightly at the abrupt change of subject. “No.”

There was fruit and bread on the bedside table, along with a pitcher of water. “You must be hungry,”

Aradia said.

“Yes,” Pyrrhus replied. “Wicket, have you a knife? I don’t know what has happened to my clothes and belongings.”

Of course-he would be ravenous with the hunger that came from depleting the body’s reserves in Adept healing, but the pain in his face would not allow him to bite into the fruit. Aradia opened to Reading, sending an order to the hospital kitchen for the revitalizing soup that was kept ready for awakening patients.

Wicket handed Pyrrhus a knife with a thin blade, in trade for the coins. But when the man in the bed tried to move, simply to reach for the fruit, the pain escaped his control, and he gasped as his body twisted.

Wicket deftly caught the falling knife.

“Let me help,” said Aradia, laying a hand against the back of Pyrrus’ neck, where the nerve centers led to his cheek and down into his injured shoulder. Deliberately, she stopped the pain.

At the sudden relief, Pyrrhus collapsed back onto his pillow, eyes closed. Then he reopened them, and lifted his right arm with an effort, staring at his hand. “It’s gone numb,” he said, unable to control the slight hint of fear in his voice.

“Just temporarily,” Aradia quickly assured him. “It’s the only way to take away the pain so you can replenish the strength healing has taken from your body.”

Wicket had already sliced up an apple. “Here,” he said, putting it in reach of Pyrrhus’ left hand.

Once the man began to eat, his body’s needs took over. It was a common experience to Aradia, but obviously neither Pyrrhus nor Wicket had ever seen anyone eat after Adept healing. Bread and fruit disappeared as fast as Wicket could slice them, and when an attendant brought the soup Aradia had called for, it vanished with equal speed.

Wicket was staring at his friend in utter astonishment. “You won’t stay so skinny if you eat like that, Pyrrhus!”

Aradia guessed that Pyrrhus was hardly satisfied, although his stomach was full. He lay back, looking embarrassed, but did not answer.

“Your friend is behaving normally, Wicket,” Aradia assured him. “Adept healing takes the strength from his own body to repair the damage, and he has to replenish it. Even after he is healed, he’ll need to eat far more than normal for several days.”

“Well,” said Wicket, “I can see where our money’s going to go, then!”

“Don’t worry, Wicket,” said Pyrrhus, “I won’t ask for any of yours.”

Pyrrhus was not looking at Wicket; he did not see his friend’s face fall. Then Wicket’s look became determined. “We agreed we were in this together, didn’t we? So it’s our money, not yours or mine, and if you need it to get your strength back-well, where’d I be without you?”

Pyrrhus turned his head to look at Wicket. “Probably much better off,” he answered.

“I’d be dead!” Wicket said.

Pyrrhus nodded. “Precisely.”

Aradia knew that physical weakness was exacerbating Pyrrhus’ attitude, so she said, “Pyrrhus will feel much better tomorrow, Wicket. You mustn’t take anything he says now seriously.”

“Why not? It’s the way he always talks. Good thing he doesn’t act the way he talks, innit?”

It sounded like a long and enduring friendship, and the way Pyrrhus raised his eyes to study the ceiling without attempting to answer confirmed it. Aradia upgraded her estimate of the chances that Pyrrhus would modify his cynical attitude with further experience of life in the Savage Empire.

She smiled at Wicket. “I’m going to put Pyrrhus back into healing sleep now, so-”

“Oh, no,” Pyrrhus snapped. “No more of that , thank you!”

“If I don’t,” said Aradia, “you’ll be in pain for several more days, and it will be weeks before you’re healed enough to be active. Aggravate those half-healed burns in the meantime, and you could get scar tissue that would hamper the use of your right arm. Your sword arm,” she added, remembering that when she first saw him, Pyrrhus had been wearing such a weapon, sheathed at his left.

“Do the healing,” he said, “but don’t try to knock me out again.”

“It’s the only-”

“Aradia.”

She turned, to find Master Clement and Julia entering the room.

“What are you doing, Aradia?” the Master Reader asked. “There are plenty of competent healers. You must not exhaust yourself.”

“I’m not,” she replied. “It’s only this one man.”

“What is-?”

Master Clement approached the bed, and stopped in his tracks when he saw its occupant. “Pyrrhus!”

Aradia opened to Reading, and was engulfed in the old man’s astonishment and concern, followed by sorrow. “What has happened to you?”

Pyrrhus looked back expressionlessly. “I had a brief encounter with a vat of boiling oil,” he said flatly.

“You?” asked Master Clement. “I heard the name, but I never thought- Pyrrhus, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you Reading?”

Now Pyrrhus’ voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Oh- hadn’t you heard? I was sent on a short journey along the Path of the Dark Moon.”

Aradia saw Wicket’s eyes, wide with astonishment, go back and forth between his friend on the bed and the imposing figure of Master Clement in his scarlet cloak. It was clear that he’d had no idea his friend was a Reader.

“But-that’s impossible!” Master Clement was saying. “I tested you for the rank of Magister myself. You should have been a Master Reader by now.” Then he silent for a moment, gathering his emotions. “Yes,”

he said grimly, “I understand what must have happened. Portia.”

“Indeed,” Pyrrhus replied with a smile that would form ice crystals on a volcano. “Portia.”

Aradia felt something then from Master Clement that she had known only once before in the wise, courageous, and benevolent man who had been her husband’s mentor: guilt. “I sent you into her power,”

he said, “when I sent you to Tiberium.”

Pyrrhus said in a voice of total insincerity, “It doesn’t matter. It happened nearly five years ago. I’ve adapted.”

“Portia is dead,” said Master Clement.

Pyrrhus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I know,” he replied in a voice of savage satisfaction. HI was in the rapport. I helped you kill her.”

Master Clement strode to the bed. “Then your powers are not severely diminished. Pyrrhus-we know how to heal the Readers Portia and her cohorts forced onto the Path of the Dark Moon. As soon as you’re well, you will come to the Academy, and-”

“No!” That barked word seemed to drain the last of Pyrrhus’ energies. He lay back against the pillow, pale and sweating again, and closed his eyes. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “What Portia did to me was not her usual method of taking an uncooperative Reader out of her way. Oh, she had originally planned to marry me off, drug me with white lotus, drain my will so she and the other corrupt Masters could implant the belief that my powers were reduced. “

The man’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “I found out what they were doing,” he said. “You were right, Clement. I was one of the best Readers you ever trained. So I Read too much, found out what Portia was doing-and stupidly refused to join her inner circle. I still had the ideals you taught me. Much good they did me!”